


everything i could give

by andnowforyaya



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Forbidden Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 14:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11442756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andnowforyaya/pseuds/andnowforyaya
Summary: Wonwoo is a servant in the Kwon household, and Soonyoung is the Crown Prince.





	everything i could give

Wonwoo awakens prone on his stomach facing the unmarked wall, the tops of his arms stiff, his upper back like someone had cast it into stone. There’s clanging in the kitchens nearby already despite the sun having barely risen over the horizon, and the noise makes it feel as though his brain is trying to escape his head through his ears.

“Awake?” he hears from the doorway. 

“Unfortunately,” Wonwoo mumbles into his pillow. He tries to turn his head but the muscles of his neck are stiff, and what should have been an effortless shift in position turns into something slow and grueling instead. He sighs when he can finally press his other cheek into the pillow and sees Mingyu lingering at the edge of their shared room in the servant’s quarters.

“Do you want me to take a look?” Mingyu asks, features schooled into concern. “How are you feeling?”

“It was only five lashes,” Wonwoo mumbles, eyelids heavy. 

He can’t afford to fall back asleep, though, not when there’s so much to do this morning before the banquet. The Hong family will be visiting from the kingdom of Busan, the Kwons playing the role of royal hosts as the two crown Princes from each family dance around each other to vet the possibility of marriage and joining their families, only the second in a stream of such banquets. Crown Prince Soonyoung has already dismissed the idea of marrying Prince Seungkwan, whose family had visited last month from Jeju, citing that -- in a rare display of thoughtfulness and maturity -- he and Seungkwan are too similar in temperament and will not a harmonious match make, though he aims to remain friends with the bright prince and hopes to consider him a strong ally in the future. 

Wonwoo will need to make his way to the various gardens around the palace, trimming this and that, arranging the displays of beautiful flora, to do his part in preparing for the banquet. And then he will need to head down to the stables. Peony, Prince Soonyoung’s favorite mare, is due to have her horseshoes inspected and refitted.

But his lumpy bed feels so nice, and the sun is starting to creep over all land owned by the Kwons, and soon it will be warm, almost too hot to be under the sun. 

“Only five lashes,” Mingyu mimics under his breath, coming closer. Wonwoo sees now he has a bowl in each hand, along with a washcloth draped over his arm. Mingyu sits on the edge of his bed and puts the bowls onto the floor, water sloshing slightly over the sides of both. “I’ve never felt the lash,” Mingyu says. “One might think you, however, enjoy it.”

“I do not,” Wonwoo begins to protest, but his words are cut off by a stifled grunt when Mingyu unceremoniously removes the bandages from where they had been resting over Wonwoo’s back, large strips of cloth that smell of minty herbs. Mingyu puts these cloths into one of the bowls and dips the clean washcloth into the other bowl, wringing it out before gently wiping Wonwoo’s back and cleaning the area where the lash had struck him.

“It didn’t break the skin,” Mingyu says, a hint of gratefulness in his voice. “It’s just a little raw, and you’ll have some fantastic bruises.”

“Great,” Wonwoo says, letting his eyes close for just another moment as Mingyu washes his back in repetitive motions, his touch soothing.

“Was it worth it?” Mingyu asks.

Wonwoo, on the edge of sleep, manages to nod and mumble, “It always is.”

.

The gardens are quiet this early in the morning. Wonwoo enjoys the peace that tending to the gardens brings. There are two larger gardens in the east and west wings that wrap around the back of the property and lead to a maze and pond, and smaller gardens throughout in the open spaces between rooms so that, in any room in the palace, one could slide open the rice paper doors for a view of something carefully curated and beautiful. He has his tools, and the sun, and the dirt under his feet, and sometimes he thinks that this is all that he needs to survive, to be happy, but then he will lay on his bed at night staring up at the ceiling and feel like a chunk of his heart has been ripped from him, and his dreams will be filled with a boy with stars in his eyes. That emptiness ebbs and flows, but it always remains. 

Wonwoo rolls his shoulders slowly, easing the aches that remain. Sweat has already started to drip from his temples and seep into his tunic, making the fabric cling to him in some places. Here, the garden starts to thicken as the path leads into a copse of tall bamboo and into the maze that circles the small pond. 

As he works to clear the path of tiny, wayward bamboo shoots, his mind wanders to the banquet that evening. He finds himself wondering what Prince Soonyoung is doing to prepare for the event, if he will be having kohl drawn around his eyes to accentuate that feature. Wonwoo has always thought Soonyoung’s eyes remind him of a cat’s -- bright and glittering and a little bit devious behind the deceptive layer of innocence. He wonders what robes Soonyoung will be wearing. He knows the Hong’s colors are reds and pinks, and he thinks Soonyoung will probably be dressed to match or play off these colors. Perhaps his red robes with the gold trim and accents, or his delicate pink robes with the hand-stitched blossoms hugging the edges. Either way and whatever Soonyoung wears, Wonwoo thinks, he’ll be beautiful.

Wonwoo turns the corner of the maze and finds an altar in a clearing, the bamboo cut away to allow the sun to bounce light off of the structure. There are fresh flowers and fruits on the altar, which means that someone has been here recently. Wonwoo doesn’t touch these things, but clears away fallen leaves and other debris he finds. Then he goes back into the maze.

There are a few altars scattered throughout, as well as a few sitting areas beside the pond. Wonwoo tends to each hidden alcove carefully, knowing that after the banquets, it’s not uncommon for the guests to wander to these secret places and enjoy the remainder of their evening out here under the stars.

He turns another corner and finds another clearing, but this one is inhabited, the boy’s back to Wonwoo as he sits on a bench at the edge of the pond. Wonwoo would recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Prince?” he calls out softly.

The boy turns his head, eyes widening. Immediately, Wonwoo sinks down to his knees in a display of reverence and puts his tools to the side, casting his eyes to the ground, but soon after, he feels a tug under his shoulders.

“Wonwoo-yah,” Prince Soonyoung says, his voice quiet. “It’s just us. You don’t need to.”

Wonwoo straightens slowly, sitting back on his heels. Soonyoung is sitting before him, cross-legged, his pink robes fanning out over his lap. He looks a vision, gold and rouge dusted across the tops of his cheeks, his ears dripping in jewels, eyes lined with kohl. He is wearing the pink robes that Wonwoo likes so much, the ones with flowers embroidered delicately into the fabric. 

“What are you doing out here, Prince?” Wonwoo asks. “And alone?”

Soonyoung laughs, leaning back onto his hands, throwing his head back and exposing the line of his throat. Wonwoo swallows, unable to look away.

“I’m all done up but the banquet is hours away. I don’t know. I didn’t want to rehearse for the performance at the banquet. I saw an opportunity and I took it.”

“Seungcheol will be upset,” Wonwoo warns, lips quirking into a small smile when he pictures the apoplectic look on the servant’s face when Soonyoung reappears. Seungcheol will undoubtedly be looking for Soonyoung, and he will undoubtedly find him soon as he has learned to be very thorough in his searches for the wayward prince. Wonwoo shifts to sit cross-legged also, rolling his shoulders subtly. “I think he thinks you don’t like him very much.”

“Well, he thinks right,” Soonyoung says with a straight face, but he breaks out into a grin shortly after, laughing and reaching for Wonwoo’s hands with his own. “Oh, I’m sorry. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I would never,” Wonwoo breathes. Soonyoung’s hands are smaller than his, though not by much, but they are infinitely more refined and soft. Soonyoung threads his fingers through Wonwoo’s, examining them, the pattern they make.

“Your hands are rough,” Soonyoung comments, grinning up at Wonwoo in a way that makes the servant’s heart skip. “And you have dirt under your nails.”

“Well,” Wonwoo says. “I am a gardener and stable boy, after all.”

“I like your hands,” Soonyoung says unabashedly. “They tell a story about you. My hands are boring.”

“They are not,” Wonwoo says, boldly turning their hands so that he can hold one of Soonyoung’s between both of his. He explores Soonyoung’s palm with his thumbs, and then trails his index finger down the line of each of Soonyoung’s fingers. “See? Your palms are smooth, except for right here.” He traces his finger over the top curve of Soonyoung’s palm. “Slightly callused from holding reins. You ride horses, maybe even rather well.” He touches the two smallest joints of Soonyoung’s index and middle fingers of his right hand, where the skin is rougher. “Skilled in archery,” he continues. Touches the side of Soonyoung’s index finger next. “Calligraphy, even?”

Soonyoung giggles, the sound sweet and soft. “You already knew these things about me.”

“Me? Know things about you, the Crown Prince? How could I presume?” Wonwoo teases, feeling something warm bubble up in his chest knowing he can make Soonyoung laugh.

“Oh, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung says, still smiling, the light dancing in his eyes.

And there it is, that empty feeling in Wonwoo’s chest again, pulling at him, yearning to be filled. Forbidden. He slips his hands from Soonyoung’s, feeling cold. “My Prince,” he says.

“Wonwoo-yah,” Soonyoung says into the still air. There is a bird singing at the other end of the pond, the melody familiar and forlorn. Something shutters and breaks like lightning flashing across the sky, and Soonyoung’s face crumples in an instant as fat tears roll down his cheeks. “I don’t want to marry.” 

Wonwoo can barely manage to contain his shock, rising up to his knees to be closer as he wrestles internally with an intense need to draw Soonyoung close to him. Soonyoung decides for him, throwing his arms around Wonwoo’s waist and pressing his face against Wonwoo’s tunic as he cries. 

“Shh,” Wonwoo soothes, hesitantly wrapping his arms around the Prince and sinking back down to the ground with him. “It’s okay, Prince. It’ll be okay.”

His heart breaks hearing Soonyoung cry, watching his shoulders shake. He grits his teeth against the pain when Soonyoung clutches at his back higher, aggravating his bruising from the lashing he received the night before. 

“I don’t want to marry,” Soonyoung says again. When he pulls back, the kohl has smeared and run from his eyes, staining his cheeks. “Wonwoo, I -- What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Wonwoo says quickly, pressing his lips together. 

“Does it hurt somewhere?” Soonyoung asks, inner conflict forgotten already when confronted with whatever stupid face Wonwoo must have been making. His hands cup Wonwoo’s cheeks, his thumbs brushing under Wonwoo’s eyes. “What’s happened?”

“I’m fine, My Prince,” Wonwoo insists. The bruises over his shoulders and upper back throb after working all morning. “It’s nothing.”

“Is it your back?” Soonyoung doesn’t wait for confirmation, pulling Wonwoo in close again -- too close, Wonwoo’s face against Soonyoung’s neck almost -- to peer down the back of Wonwoo’s tunic.

“Hey! Soonyoung--”

“What happened,” Soonyoung says when he's in front of Wonwoo again. He grips Wonwoo’s shoulders, eyes narrowed. He looks angry. Wonwoo realizes he’s never seen Soonyoung angry before and that, like all of Soonyoung’s expressions, he finds it uniquely captivating. “Tell me,” Soonyoung orders. “Was it another servant? A guard? I’ll deal with them.”

“It’s fine,” Wonwoo insists. “Please don’t overreact.”

“Someone has hurt you!” Soonyoung exclaims. “I am not overreacting. Tell me!”

“Soonyoung--”

“Wonwoo, please,” Soonyoung begs, expression vulnerable. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”

Wonwoo wishes the ground would swallow him up, or maybe he could make a break for it and manage to run the few steps to the pond and drown himself within it. The way Soonyoung is looking at him, like he is all that matters to him, hurts more than any number of lashes could. “I was punished,” Wonwoo explains flatly, quietly. “It was past curfew when I returned last night.”

Wonwoo watches the emotions flit across Soonyoung’s face: curiosity, realization, sadness, anger, regret. “You were with me,” Soonyoung says aloud. “But didn’t you tell the head servant? Didn’t you tell him that? We weren’t doing anything wrong. There was no need for punishment. There was no need…”

Soonyoung takes Wonwoo’s hands again in his, fingers trembling. “Have you been punished every time? Don’t lie to me.”

Wonwoo licks his dry lips, shoulders aching. He nods.

To Wonwoo’s horror, Soonyoung drops his forehead to the ground, to Wonwoo’s hands, bowing, his black hair falling across his forehead. “Why didn’t you say?” the Prince cries shakily. “Wonwoo-yah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. Why didn’t you say something?”

“And give up spending time with you?” Wonwoo says, feeling a burn in the backs of his eyes and a lump forming in his throat seeing the Prince, his precious Prince, like this because of him. He coaxes Soonyoung to rise, uncomfortable with having royalty bowing before him, and Soonyoung only does so after more apologies and tears, after Wonwoo forces him upright with his hands on Soonyoung’s shoulders. “I could never,” Wonwoo says sincerely. 

“Idiot,” Soonyoung says, sniffling again, his eyes wet. There’s dirt on his chin. 

Wonwoo reaches out and cups the Prince’s cheek, using his thumb to wipe the dirt away, and then Soonyoung’s lips are on his, his pretty pink lips, and Wonwoo’s heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to fly right out of his chest. He melts into the kiss, into Soonyoung, who tastes like sweet pears and sugar, who smells like the cherry blossoms when they bloom in the spring. There’s Soonyoung’s hand in his hair, carding through his messy locks, tugging slightly, and there’s Soonyoung in his lap, his pink robes fanning out over them both, and Wonwoo wishes he could kiss Soonyoung forever.

Soonyoung pulls back first to brush his lips over Wonwoo’s, bites lightly on Wonwoo’s lower lip as he breaks from the kiss. They’re both panting, their shared breaths hot between them, and Wonwoo brings Soonyoung closer until their foreheads are touching and he can count the lashes fanning out from Soonyoung’s eyelids. 

“I don’t want to marry,” Soonyoung says again, for the final time, “because none of the other princes are you.” His fingers trace over Wonwoo’s cheeks, over the bridge of his nose, like he is trying to memorize him through touch only, and Wonwoo wants to believe they have a chance together, that they can _be_ together, but the bird on the other side of the pond calls and reality crashes all around him like shattering glass.

“You’ll fall in love with a prince,” Wonwoo says, though he’s not sure if it’s for him or for Soonyoung to hear.

“I don’t think I will,” Soonyoung says, leaning forward to kiss Wonwoo again chastely. 

“So what will we do?” Wonwoo uses his fingers to brush the hair back from Soonyoung’s face, heart swelling.

Soonyoung doesn’t say anything for a moment. He drops his head to Wonwoo’s shoulder, pillowing his cheek there. The pond is still and the sun is at its zenith in the sky. The shadows of the maze dance and twist around them as a breeze filters through the forest of bamboo, shaking the stalks and ruffling the delicate leaves. It’s peaceful, and quiet, and Soonyoung fits against Wonwoo like a key into a lock.

“I’ll think of something,” Soonyoung promises. 

.

**Author's Note:**

> my first seventeen fic~ thanks for reading! comments are appreciated <3
> 
> i am on twitter @ andnowforyaya :) i don't know many people who like seventeen, so i'd love to meet you??


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